


Through The Trees

by kaileidohscope



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Melodrama, References to Depression, Romance, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Tragedy, Tsundere Kim Jongin | Kai, chanbaeksoo are best friends, minor infidelity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-24 23:31:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12023370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaileidohscope/pseuds/kaileidohscope
Summary: A story of friendship, love, secrets, lies, and not-so-happy endings. Because you can't choose who you fall in love with, and you can't love who you don't.





	1. Prologue; Internet Friend

**Author's Note:**

> "Some thing's, once you've loved them, become yours forever. And if you try to let them go, they only circle back and return to you. They become a part of who you are, or they destroy you." — 'Kill Your Darlings' (2013)

**D ate:** November 18th, 2007  
 **Jongin:** Age 13  
 **Location:** Beijing, China

 

"Wait, so how did you meet this guy, again?" Jongin asked for the umpteenth time that day as he dunked a piece of his sweet and sour chicken into some dipping sauce. Yixing was sat across from him, stopping mid-sentence when the younger had interrupted.  
"Online." The Chinese answered cheekily passed his mouthful of white rice, "He write amazing poems and he's really nice--"

" _Online?_ " Jongin interjected again, his chopsticks stopping midway to his mouth in nonplus, "Isn't that a little sketchy? I mean, he could be some creepy old guy or something just waiting for the chance to lock you up in his basement and never let you out again." He punctuated his point, and finished shoveling some more chicken into his mouth.

"His name is Kyungsoo," Yixing continued, pointedly drawing out his words in offence of being interrupted twice in a row, "And he's only a year older than you, _and_ lives in Korea. I've video-chatted with him." He paused for a moment of thought, "Y'know, I think you'd really like him."

"Video-chatted? How, you can't speak Korean." Jongin tisked skeptically, leaning over to accept the bite of rice Yixing had offered him - and entirely disregarding the elder's musings of him possibly liking this guy.

"No, but I'm learning, and he can speak some Chinese." Yixing explained with a cheery lift of his shoulders and dimpled smile. "He's so endearing when he speaks Chinese, but his pronunciation is spot on! He even speaks a little Thai. _And_ he said he's learning English!"

"You said he's only a year older than me?" Jongin pulled a face, picking through his fried rice in instant belittlement. He's lived in China for nearly seven years already, and all he'd manage to do is perfect his Chinese. That was a stress in itself; he couldn't even _imagine_ learning two extra languages on top of that.

"His eyes are really big and adorable - Oh, he wears glasses, too. I think they make him too like Harry Potter, it's really funny..." Yixing rambled on guilelessly, and by the looks of it, he wouldn't be letting up anytime soon. Jongin eventually toned him out and focused solely on his lunch while the Chinese went on about what's-his-face, and how he knew how to make Kimchi Spaghetti.

  
Jongin wasn't all that interested, to be quite honest.

 

  
______________________________________________

 

  
That was a few weeks ago, when Yixing had first brought up this Kyungsoo-guy. Jongin was sure it was only a one-time conversation, and the Chinese wouldn't really talk to the guy again after that. But all of those thoughts eventually faded when Yixing had brought him up a second time when Jongin had asked who he was texting at lunch.

Then Yixing would bring him up during conversation. It was subtle, really, but Jongin took notice easily. It was always a simple, _"Oh, Kyungsoo likes that, too!"_ or a _"Oh, that's Kyungsoo's favorite, too!"_

Jongin found himself slowly boiling in the pit of jealousy as his best friend was apparently swiped right from under him; scowling each time Kyungsoo's name was mentioned, or when Yixing would excuse himself from their Pokemon battles to answer a call from Kyungsoo.

But, even as possessive as he was, he could handle it. Yixing was still _his_ best friend. Kyungsoo could never steal him away. Jongin wouldn't allow it as long the Chinese stayed by his side.

Kyungsoo was an enemy, and a subconscious hatred for him was born over time. But not once had Jongin even seen the boy's face.

 

__________________________________________

 

 

"You're moving in _two weeks!?_ "

"Well, yeah, I--"

"And you didn't even think to tell me about this until _now_?"

"Jongin--"

"I've been your best friend for how long, and you were just gonna up and leave _the freaking country_ without tell me--?!"

"I was going to tell you--"

"--What, just gonna leave nothing but a frickin' farewell card saying, _'Oh, yeah, I'm leaving. Sorry, forgot to tell you, see ya never, bye'_!? What kind of--"

"You're being dramatic--"

"--friend are you, you buttwad! I can't believe I let you barrow my gameboy for a whole _week_ \--and I want that back, by the way! _That's not yours it's mine, especially now! And I want my Playboy back, those weren't easy to get I hope you know!_ "

"Jongin will you listen to me--"

"-- _they cost a lot of money_ \--"

"--for one second--"

"-- _I better not find a single ripped page or I swear_ \--"

" _ **Jongin shut up!**_ "

...

Jongin, who'd been pacing erratically in front of Yixing, recoiled in surprise when the normally calm and collected Chinese suddenly rose his voice, blinking several times as if to make sure he'd really heard what he just heard.

"This is the very reason it took me so long to tell you," Yixing began in perfect Chinese, standing up to go get a drink from the water fountain on the opposite side of the dance studio. "I knew you'd get upset." He sighed, straightening out his shirt as he sidled across the floor, Jongin hot on his trail.

"Well, how else am I supposed to react to this?!" The younger huffed in exasperation, his Chinese marred with little to no mistakes aside from an almost indistinguishable accent.  
"The only friend I have in this friggin' country is leaving in only fourteen days, I may _never_ see him again, and he waited **for-freaking-ever** to tell me! We only have a few days left, and they're _precious!_ If I would've known this earlier, we could've been having a lot more fun then just sitting around, wasting out precious time playing Pokemon--"

"Jongin, please." Yixing sighed after taking a sip of the water spewing up from the fountain, resting a tender hand on his friend's shoulder. "You're wigging out too much, I mean, it's not like we'll never see each other again. I'll come back to visit--Heck, _you_ could even come visit me in Korea!" The Chinese offered with a cheeky smile, angling his head in a way that broke Jongin. "Fine.."  He sighed dejectedly and acquiescently nodded, albeit pouting.

 

Yixing visibly brightened at that, broad grin turning his eyes in crescents as he pulled the younger into a tight hug. "Hey, if you do come to Korea, you'd be able to meet Kyungsoo, finally!" He chirruped, though the positive effect he was going for had the complete opposite on Jongin as the younger scowled into Yixing's shoulder. " _Can't wait_."

Whatever sarcasm in Jongin's voice went unnoticed to the Chinese as he gave a squeeze for good measure, happily patting his back. "I'm telling you, you two would really hit it off.."

Yixing continued rambling on, but Jongin had stopped listening a long time ago, more focused on holding his dearest friend just right and keeping his emotions at bay. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment, chocolate orbs set on their reflection as he unobtrusively blinked away rising tears.

 


	2. Because I Miss You

**Date:** October 7th, 2012

**Jongin:** Age 18

**Location:** Gyeonggi-do, South Korea

It was a drizzling type of October rain, light and hardly noticeable, yet will soak anything that stays under it for too long. The pavements and roads are moist with small puddles forming here and there. Traffics light, yet drivers kept a slow pace of ten miles per hour as they cruised down the roads. People of all ages walk along sidewalks, each bundled up against the autumn wind and giving bright smiles to one another as they passed, occasionally stopping by a store and always holding the door open for those exiting before entering, themselves.

Halloween was right around the corner, so many stores were advertising costumes and decorations; carved pumpkins and knick-knacks lined windows and fallen leafs littered yards. There was a peaceful bustling of life and happiness through the trees, friendly neighbors and children at play. But all guileless laughter and jovial chatter was muted the moment they met Jongin’s ears, leaving nothing but silence.

A wilted Daisy was cradled loosely in his grip, and his stoic gaze was downcast towards the marble plaque before him. In cursive, golden letters, it read:

“Zhang Yixing—October 7th 1992 – December 24th 2010—Treasured Grandson and Devoted Friend”

Jongin swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up for a moment before dropping back down. He wanted to speak, to say _anything._ But there were no words to be said. Nothing would suffice for what he was feeling.

 

Date: August 4th, 2009

Jongin: Age 15

“Jongin, when are you coming to visit me, huh? It’s been too long…!” Yixing whined in adorable Korean on the opposite end of the line, Jongin laughing softly in response as he curled up under his blankets.

“It is exams week, I can’t just leave~” The younger hummed tiredly, staring absently into the darkness as Yixing gave an explosive sigh.

“Well I want you to be meet my new friends, I think you’d really like them—“

“Them, or just Kyungsoo?” Jongin quipped with a tisk. “Well, **mostly** Kyungsoo...” The Chinese admitted, earning a wry laugh. “I don’t want to meet him.”

“What—Why?”

“I just don’t. Hey, how’s the dancing thing going over there?” Jongin sighed, fast to change the subject before Yixing questioned further.

There was a short pause before Yixing gave his cheerful reply, “Oh! It’s going really well! I forgot to tell you—I won a dancing Scholarship for Seoul University, isn’t that amazing!”

Jongin smiled broadly, nodding excitedly even though Yixing couldn’t see him. “That’s fantastic, Xing! Have you told Grandma Zhang yet?”

“Yes! We’re having a party to celebrate next weekend.” There was small silence, and Jongin could almost feel the energy level falling to a dull sullen. “I really wish you could come, Jongin.” 

Jongin frowned with a soft sigh. “I know…” He agreed dejectedly, and they both shared a moment a silence to express their own yearning. “Hey...” The younger softly started after a minute or two, “I’m really proud of you, Xing. You did it.” 

Jongin smiled faintly to himself, and he knew Yixing was smiling back. “I’ll come visit, soon, okay? For your birthday. It’ll be fun—you can show me around Namsan, and I’ll be able to see the Han River for the first time in years. We can even go to China Town in Incheon, okay? I promise!” He thrust a fist into the air, index finger extended, followed by a laugh.

The Chinese laughed along as well, and Jongin’s mirth dwindled to a faint giggle as he imagined his friend doing the same action, “With all that you have planned, I don’t think there’s enough hours in a day.” Yixing laughed softly, “I don’t think I even have enough money to pay for all the bus tickets!”

“I’ll pay, then. I’ll sell some of my drawings to get the money,” Though Jongin laughed jokingly, he was half serious, “ We’ll travel all over Korea together like we always talked about when we were kids and we’ll have tons of fun.”

 

A shuttering sigh broke the thin air as Jongin exhaled, shifting the flower into one hand as used the other to rub at his forehead. The wind feathered through his hair, causing his loosened tie to weakly lift in the breeze before he sighed and cleared his throat, dropping his hands to his sides once more.

“…Hello, Yixing.” Jongin mumbled softly, fidgeting with the slender stem in his hands. “I’m sorry if took me so long... I guess I got a little busy the past two years.” He tried a laugh, but it crumbled before even passing his throat. He wet his lips, and wiped his nose, willing away his sudden tears with a trembling breath. “It’s not as good of a present as I promised, but I got you this. I hope Daisies are still your favorite.”

Jongin knelt down and placed the flower in the bouquet holder. A bundle of fresh red roses were already arranged—from Grandma Zhang, Jongin guessed—and his lone blue Daisy looked a bit out of place against their vibrant colors.

A single, humble flower; the peddles may be a bit battered and it may be wilted slightly with the weight of the world, but it signified more than Jongin could describe; a little boy’s terrifying first day of school in a foreign country, to another’s welcoming smile and offered friendship; promises locked between clasp palms and wishes whispered into the stars, shared peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and scraped knees and kissed booboos. An unbreakable bond.

After taking a moment to trace the golden characters with the pad of his thumb, Jongin stood there silent for several moments. Something between doubt and guilt seeped in eventually, and soon the tattered Daisy was being rearranged.

Jongin tried fluffing the lifeless peddles, but that only resulted in accidentally plucking one off. He tried straightening the damaged stem, but only ended up bending it the opposite direction. He tried supporting it against the roses, but it wouldn’t sit right. Frustrated, he seized the uncooperative plant in his fist and craned his arm back, ready to throw it away with passive hatred before grasping his actions.

He sighed evenly, tentatively lowering his hand to inspect the newly inflicted damage. It wouldn’t be able to stand on its own now, and had lost several more peddles. Propping it on the roses hadn’t work before, so Jongin tenderly placed the daisy atop of the marble surface of the plaque.

 

 

 

 

 

Grandma Zhang looked about the same as Jongin had remembered. Her eyes were still gentle and her touch still carried the nurturing, motherly tenderness he’d grown up knowing. There were only subtle changes, like the faint creases of wrinkles, and the ashy grey undertone to her ebony hair tied taut in a bun.

She looked tired—aged; like the past five years had been anything but kind to her, and Jongin couldn’t even imagine.

It only took three knocks and a moment’s wait before the little Chinese woman opened the door, eyes squinting behind thin rimmed glasses as she scrutinized the young man before her, brows lined with thought. “Jongin? Is that you?”

Said man smiled vaguely in response, nodding his head in affirmation. “Hello, Grandma. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Oh, Jonginnie!” The woman chirruped, arms outstretching to beckon Jongin into a hug, said man having to hunker awkwardly down to her level before she’d pulled back to put his cheeks in her hands. “You’ve gotten so big! Oh, come in, come in!”

Jongin gave a smile as he was ushered into the house – the first genuine smile he’d given all day – and obediently took a seat in the living room while Grandma Zhang busied herself with making tea for her guest. In the meantime, Jongin surveyed the unfamiliar house.

Most of furniture was new, only few small things – such as lamps or side tables – were recognized from the old townhouse he’d frequented almost every day back in China. The walls were littered with picture frames, some old photos he’d seen before, and some he had never. He’d noticed himself in a few – his and Yixing’s first grade class picture, for example.

Grandma Zhang then teetered in, setting a tray of fine China on the coffee table before offering Jongin an already filled cup. He’d automatically accepted, sipping the steaming beverage and letting it warm his core. He remembered drinking this same tea back when he was child, though he was a complete novice when it came to manners. At the mere age of eleven, he was holding his glass up for a toast before downing it like alcohol. Grandma Zhang had scolded him so profusely; Yixing laughed mockingly, and they both ended up doing dishes that night.

“So how are your mother and father? Still healthy and happily in love, I’m hoping.” The old woman hummed with giddy excitement. Jongin was almost tempted to lie, but he just couldn’t. Not to Grandma Zhang.

“My father passed away several years ago, Grandma. Remember? He was killed in combat.”

Grandma Zhang was taken aback, teacup frozen halfway to her mouth as she stared blankly at Jongin, before finally, the realization sunk in. “Oh, I... Yes, of course, I… I’m so sorry, dear, it must’ve slipped my mind, I didn’t—“

“It’s alright, Grandma. It was a long time ago.” Jongin smiled with a dismissive shake of his head, lightly setting his tea aside to gather his hands in his lap. “But I actually stopped by for a reason.”

“Yes, anything. What is it, honey?” She still seemed a bit bent on bringing up such a sullen memory, and tentatively let it go with the man’s shift in conversation. Jongin shifted in his seat, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“I was just wondering if perhaps I could look through some of Yixing’s things. If it’d be alright, of course. I understand if you—“

“No, no, I understand, dear. It’s for closure, isn’t it?” She set his tea aside as well, and reached over to rest a gentle hand upon Jongin’s clasped ones. Jongin didn’t verbally answer, just nodded his head with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

All of Yixing things had been packed up in boxes for a while—all stored in the attic. A large cloud of dust was abruptly thrown into the air after years of settling, causing him to swipe at the pesky particles attacking his nose.

Inside the first box was old baby clothes and such, little onesies and booties that haven’t been in use for nearly two decades. He set it aside and went on to another. In that one was things from Yixing’s young years, pictures he’d drawn in kindergarten and graded tests; almost all wearing a proud ‘100%’ at the top.

Jongin smiled a little proudly. His hyung _was_ always the smarty-pants he’d remembered.

The third box contained contents that pulled lightly at Jongin’s heart, causing his nostalgic smile to quiver. There, sticking out against the clutter of old Pokémon cards and action figures, left in a vacant corner of the box, was small silver ring. One that matched the ring hanging from the thin chain looped around his neck.

 

Date: January 14th, 2000

Jongin: Age 6

Location: Beijing, China

Yixing’s fist was tight, pointer finger erect as he held it out for Jongin, a silver band wrapped around the small digit. The younger grinned broadly, sliding a matching piece on, before curling his own index finger around the elder’s, the metal silently clinking as they bumped. 

They both held ice-cream cones in their free hands, the giddy buzz of happiness and celebration filling the air around them. Jongin wore a tall, pointed hat with the words, ‘Birthday Boy’ scrawled in bold Chinese characters.

A dimpled smile punctuated a silent promise. “We’ll always be the most bestest, bestest, **bestest** buddies, Nini. These rings will **always** keep us together, ‘kay?”

 

Adolescent giggling bubbled dully in the back of his mind before ebbing away completely, leaving only the drone of the heater as he sat there on the crowded attic floor. For a while, he didn’t move—didn’t breathe. He just stared at the small piece of jewelry before tentatively taking it into the palm of his hand.

“...’Kay.” It was an almost inaudible mumble, hardly disrupting the settled silence. He turned the ring over, shifting it between his fingers before it slipped onto his pinky, barely making it passed his knuckle.

He flexed his fingers, curling and uncurling them in front of himself before the flicker of sunlight on a shiny surface caught his eye. His brows furrowed, and he focused his vision on the source – the corner of a something – a picture, Jongin guessed – sticking out from under a clutter of miscellaneous papers.

Jongin almost didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see the memories he’d missed out on. It was guilt. Sadness. Regret. Remorse. He didn’t want to face it all; the _truth._ This was all just a horrible nightmare. He just _knew_ it. In the morning, he’d wake up back in China, and his mom would be packing boxes, and she’d usher him out of bed. He’d come to Korea, and Yixing would be waiting for him.

But this wasn’t a dream. Yixing wasn’t coming back.

The picture slid free with hesitance, two faces smiling up at him as he cradled the Polaroid in his hands. His eyes found Yixing out of habit, the Chinese standing with his arm draped intimately around an unfamiliar brunet’s shoulders – who puffed his cheeks in a cute scrunched up face – while Yixing held the camera up high at an unsteady angle.

Jongin stared at it for a while, glancing between the two faces with a stoic expression, before his eyes drifted down the scribbled writing at the base.

 

_"Happy anniversary!! I love you Xingie~ Chu~ ♡"_

 

_One year anniversary…_ Labeled December 25th, 2009

Jongin hadn’t been able to think on the words long, because he caught sight of more pictures – a stack, even – not too far from the one he’d just found. Anxiously, really, he set the Polaroid aside and gathered the others into his hands.

The first picture held the same brunet as the other, only now his hair was a dirty blond instead of brunet. The next was of Yixing – too busy eating to realize his photo was being taken – and a taller man sat beside him, mouth full of rice but still smiling for the camera. Jongin momentarily though the guy had somewhat big ears, but then he figured, it wouldn’t really look right if they were any smaller. He moved onto the next, and the next, and the next.

Almost all of them were of Yixing and the same dainty brunet-slash-blond – Jongin had learned from multiple little labels and fluffy messages that this boy’s name must’ve been _Baekhyun_ – both of them always smiling and always close. Few featured the big-eared fellow, and in rare ones, there was a fourth boy, face always bright red as he held hand up to hide his face from the camera.

Jongin never got a good look at him, because the majority of his face was always blocked by a blurred hand covering a partial amount of the lens. There was never a labeled name, either. It was several minutes later that he finally reached the last photo, a Polaroid of the brunet-slash-blond – who was now a brunet – with an unnamed boy at his side, who bent down a bit while _“Baekhyun”_ sat, arm around his shoulders and both wearing small, happy smiles. He scanned the picture briefly, before turning his eyes to the bottom for the scribbled label. His heart nearly stopped.

_"Kyungsoo and Baekhyun February 14 th 2010"_

 

_Kyungsoo._ This unnamed man, was _Kyungsoo._

Jongin didn’t know what he felt, his stomach just knotted into something unpleasant. His eyes flickered back up to scrutinize the boy’s face. His face twisted, nausea overtaking him as well as curiosity. This was Kyungsoo, the guy Yixing had spoken so often and so kindly about. Who Yixing would scurrying away to talk to during their Pokémon battles or text during their movie night. This was the Kyungsoo who had been there the five years Jongin _wasn’t._ The Kyungsoo that had taken Yixing away from him. The Kyungsoo that Yixing had been so adamant on his meeting.

He released a shuttering sigh, and his tense shoulders lowered. The Kyungsoo he’d hated and despised. But it wasn’t hatred Jongin was feeling. No... It was something else. It was obligation. Dreadful obligation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case there's any confusion, Yixing and Jongin aren't related! Jongin refers to Yixing's grandmother's as "Grandma Zhang" because that's how close he was to them;he was basically apart of their family, too.


	3. Tree

**_Kyungsoo_ ** _. This unnamed man, was **Kyungsoo**._

_Jongin didn’t know what he felt, his stomach just knotted into something unpleasant. His eyes flickered back up to scrutinize the boy’s face. His face twisted, nausea overtaking him as well as curiosity. This was Kyungsoo, the guy Yixing had spoken so often and so kindly about. Who Yixing would scurry away to talk to during their Pokémon battles or text during their movie nights. This was the Kyungsoo who had been there the five years Jongin **wasn’t**. The Kyungsoo that had taken Yixing away from him. The Kyungsoo that Yixing had been so adamant on him meeting._

_He released a shuttering sigh, and his tense shoulders lowered. The Kyungsoo he’d hated and despised. But it wasn’t hatred Jongin was feeling. No... It was something else. It was obligation. Dreadful obligation._

* * *

“Jongin! Your mother called; says it’s time for you to go home, dear!”

Jongin dropped the photos in a clutter, having been so intoned to his thoughts, Grandma Zhang’s call startled him back to reality. He fumbled for words for a moment – as if caught red-handed in something off limits as he fumbled to gather the photos.

“A-Ah, Y-Yes, Grandma, I’ll be right down!”

He neatly returned everything to its respective box, save for a few photos and the silver ring – still placed uncomfortably on his pinky. It was only when everything was back in order, and the room looked as if it’d never been disturbed in the first place, that Jongin gathered the few photos into his pocket and headed back down to the lower levels.

With a prolonged goodbye and promises of seeing each other again, Jongin left the house with a pot of home-made kimchi Grandma Zhang had insisted he take.

 

 

 

The walk back his new house was rather short, but Jongin dragged his feet – making a ten minute walk into twenty minute one. It was still raining, and his shoulders and hair was completely soaked by the time he’d sidled through the front door of his small home.

He could see his mother sitting at the kitchen table, head in her hands and papers spread out over the surface in front of her. Jongin shrugged out of his vest, hung it up the coat rack, kicked off his shoes, loosened his tie, and undid the top two buttons of his starched shirt before going to the kitchen and placing the pot of kimchi on the counter.

“Grandma made kimchi.”

Neither of them really acknowledged the other despite Jongin’s explanation, but their presences weren’t easily ignored. Jongin went about getting himself a glass of water while his mother sighed and clicked her pen to scribble a signature onto one of the documents.

“You didn’t tell me you were going out this morning.”

The woman’s voice stood out against the silence, practically bouncing off the empty walls, and it added the tension in the room.

“You were sleeping.” Was Jongin’s curt response – voice faint and tired – before he took one small sip from his full glass. He heard rather than saw his mother shuffle aside a few papers with a sigh. He stood in front of the sink.

“You should’ve woken me up.”

“Sorry.”

One more sip, and Jongin dumped the remains into the sink and put his glass in the dishwasher. Before his mother made a move to respond, he’d already exited the kitchen and trudged up the stairs to his bedroom – closing and locking the door behind himself.

The room was relatively empty aside from the bunk bed that was there when they’d moved in, and a small desk and chair off to the side. The rest of his belongings were still packed up in boxes. A few of them were opened, but Jongin hadn’t gotten around to taking anything out and putting them away.

He rolled onto the bottom bunk with a heavy sigh and closed his eyes while sprawling out into a comfortable position. He fully untied his tie and slid it off, letting it fall somewhere on the floor.

He laid there like that for a while – staring up at the wooden boards supporting the top bunk – before his hand slipped into his pocket and he pulled out the pictures. After a minute or so of leisurely sifting through them, he rolled off the bed and discarded them onto the tall dresser with a sigh.

“I really don’t want to meet him, Xing.” Jongin mumbled into the air, getting nothing but silence in response. He sidled over to the light switch and flicked the lights off before returning to his bed, heaving himself up onto the top.

The mattress was starched and springy – creaking each move he made as he pulled the comforter up to his chin. He curled up on his side, and sought sleep no later than seven in the evening.

 

 

 

 

 

Date: February 18th, 2003

Jongin: Age 9

Location: Shanghai, China

It was unbearably cold. The type of cold that seeped through and chilled Jongin to the bone despite the layers of clothing he’d piled on. The air was still stiff with lingering winter and pending snowfall.

Jongin stood motionless, watching as his father’s coffin was lowered into the ground. A crowd of people – most of which he couldn’t recognize – were gathered around, some shedding soundless tears and others just watching with sympathy. Grandma Zhang stood to his left, dabbing away a tear before tenderly combing her fingers through Jongin’s hair.

Jongin didn’t respond to the affection. He just stared, vision blurry with brimming tears. He hated crying in front of people, especially strangers. It showed him at his weakest, and Jongin hated it. His lips quivered, and then two arms had wrapped around him. Yixing. Jongin clutched onto the older boy, burying his face into his shoulder as silent sobs wracked through his small frame – hiding from multiple pairs of eyes filled with pity.

Yixing didn’t say anything, just held him.

Grandma crouched down, bringing both boys into her arms, and Jongin held onto them both – scared of letting go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Date:** November 12 th, 2012

It’d been nonstop rain about four weeks now, and Jongin was seriously beginning to wonder if there was ever any sunshine in Gyeonggi-do. He was getting pretty tired of the constant moisture, and there was almost never a place where he could sit and doodle without his paper getting dripped on and damaged. It was really irksome.

Finally, however, it seemed the Gods had decided to give the town a small break from the constant downpour, and Jongin took this opportunity gladly – sketchbook under one arm, art kit under the other – as he strode blindly down the sidewalk.

He truly had no idea where he was headed – he hadn’t gotten out much in the short amount of time it’d been since he’d moved here. His registration into the local school was still pending, so, until that was all cleared and sorted out, he was free to roam about in his leisure – without his mother’s knowledge, of course.

The sun was barely risen above the skyline, painting the sky beautiful shades of purple, blue, orange, and pink. The streets where abandoned for the most part, only the occasional car zooming by as he sidled down the sidewalk. The streetlamps had yet to die, casting spotlights of stale yellow for as far he could see down the road, each several feet apart and turning him the same dull shade each time he passed under one.

Gyeonggi-do was by no means as big of a city as Beijing, and the quiet was a drastic change after all the years Jongin had adjusted to a place that never sleeps, horns blaring and people bustling down pavements at all hours of the night. But here, here it was silent. Peaceful. Jongin craned his neck, taking in the stars faintly glimmering in the slowly brightening black abyss. He inhaled the pungent scent of autumn, savored it, and exhale with a dim smile.  He should’ve come a long time ago.

He was wavering between his fifth and sixth birthday the last time he’d experienced the serene peace of a small town. He’d forgotten how beautiful it could be. Yeah. He should’ve come back a long time ago.

With his senses clogged with a nostalgia, he took a turn towards the town’s small park. The park was fairly sized, play equipment scattered out, benches and picnic tables here and there, even a jogging trail. He dragged his shoes against the pebbles of one square play area, jungle gym to his left, slide and swings infront of him.

His ears perked at a peaceful voice, causing him to halt in his tracks and seek the source. A small, wooden platform was built several yards away – a stage, Jongin concluded – placed conveniently under an Oak tree with empty wood benches gathered around. A dark figure stood at the edge, a gently melody flowing from his lips and hands gathered at his chest. At the angle Jongin was standing, he only got the faint outline of the boy’s side profile.

He looked somewhat young and small, in Jongin’s opinion. He had half a mind to go tell the kid to go home – but then Jongin made out the boy’s clothes. A uniform, to be more specific. The same uniform he’d seen teenagers at his high school wearing – the same uniform he’d received at his orientation just days ago. So this kid wasn’t a kid, but he sure had a beautiful voice, and Jongin carefully tiptoed over to one of the swings, setting his supplies down and flipping his sketchbook open to a fresh page once settling on the tiny pebbles.

The boy was singing an older English song – Jongin remembered hearing his mother always humming a similar tune back when he was in middle school. What was it called? Open… Open, something. He couldn’t remember. He didn’t exactly do well in the mandatory English class he’d taken just a year before. He hardly passed with a C –.

Upon closer inspection, Jongin noticed the black cap hiding the majority of the boy’s face. He was focusing all his attention on the words coming from his mouth with near flawless pronunciation and perfect key. Jongin was entranced.

Jongin smiled faintly, admiring the passion before getting to work on copying it down on the blank page cradled in his lap, pointed pencils creating crisp lines and callused fingertips smudging them into curves and edges. The boy went over the song several times before stopping and grabbing up his backpack, slinging it over his shoulders without so much as even noticing Jongin as he headed off in a different direction – his back to the young artist.

By then, the world was mostly lit with daybreak. School would be starting soon, so the boy probably couldn’t stay any longer. Luckily, Jongin had gotten the majority of his work done, the little details could be filled without the boy as reference.

 

By the time he’d gotten home, it was already well passed noon. Still early, to his mother – the woman was still snoring in her downstairs bed room. He’d be up the stairs and in his bed before his mother was even aware he’d gone.

 

 

 

 

Jongin returned to the park the following night – wondering if the five-in-the-morning-singing-boy would return for an encore. He did, and for the next eight days that’d followed. Jongin could almost call this a routine – waking at four in the morning to wonder down to the park for the boy’s peaceful serenade, letting whichever tune he chose to sing that morning take his mind and control his hand and pencil.

 

But tonight, unlike other nights, when he reached the park, the boy wasn’t singing – rather, sat silently at the edge of the wooden stage, hunkered over as he scribbled down in what Jongin presumed to be a notepad of sorts – black cap placed atop his lowered head, as always.

Jongin was unsure of what to do, at first – what was he to draw if his muse wasn’t giving him any inspiration?

Then, the boy shifted, turning his head up towards the stars glittering in the sky before slipping his cap off and setting it aside. The moonlight set his features aglow, and Jongin felt his heart stop and his blood run cold.  His supplies fell in a clutter, and his eyes widened to saucers.

That face. The plump lips, the button nose, the beady eyes reflecting stars.

He knew _that face_. He’d been studying it for weeks – spurning and wondering about it for weeks. He would recognize it anywhere.

It was only when those scintillate eyes turned in his direction that Jongin swooped down and snatched up his things in rush. He took one tentative step back, then another, and another, and he spun on his heel and did the only thing he could think to do. He ran. He ran, and ran, until he could run no more, and was hidden a few blocks away behind a vacant building, breathless with a thin sheen of sweat lining his brow.

It was too soon – too sudden. He wasn’t ready. There were too many emotions flooding him all at once, he couldn’t decipher them. His chest of still heaving from the strenuous run, and he eventually dropped to the ground, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.

 

He didn’t return to the park the following week.

 

 

 

 

**Date:** November 24 th, 2012 – Monday

“Jongin! Get your ass out of bed, or you’ll miss the bus! Mom’s using the car, so I can’t drive you today!”

Jongin sighed at his sister’s words, her voice slightly muffled from the distance of downstairs. He didn’t want to take the bus. Hell, he didn’t even want to go to school. Being the new kid sucked, especially in the middle of the semester. There was only seven months of school left – why couldn’t he just wait it out and skip a grade?

“Jongin, did you hear me?”

“Yes, Soojung, I heard you!”

He sighed explosively, tying his tie with a bit more force than necessary before tucking it under his sweater vest. He buttoned the sleeves of his white button up and roughly stuffed it into his new khakis. The school uniform was cringe worthy – he didn’t like the way it fit him. It just didn’t look right.

Jongin looked at his golden name tag, the three syllables of his name engraved into it. Kim Jongin. He sighed in utter dread, shrugged on his hoodie, and slung one strap of his bag over his shoulder once sliding on his shoes.

Kyungsoo attended Gyeonggi-do High School. There was in inevitable chance of coming across him. _Inevitable._

Jongin was prepared for this type of scenery, if it were to pop up – and no, running away like a scared little baby wasn’t it.

He’d calmly introduce himself; _maybe_ bow if this bug-eyed creep was polite. Then, he’d excuse himself – throwing in the obvious demand to stay the heck away from him – and that’d be it. His mission would be complete, and he’d sleep a little better at night.

With that mindset, Jongin nodded confidently to himself, and sauntered out of the house.

 

 

 

 

 

The bus stop was just at the end of his street, and he had to stand there a good ten minutes before the yellow vehicle had finally arrived. The doors folded open to reveal an aged man – looking a bit disgruntled to be up so early. When Jongin merely stood there – dumbly – the man sighed impatiently, “Are you gettin’ on, or what? Ain’t got all morning.”

Jongin shuffled up the stairs, wringing his hands around the strap over his shoulder. The doors slid closed behind him, and he glanced reluctantly about the leather seats.

The majority of them were unoccupied. Only a couple other students had boarded, so he had a variety of seats to choose from. He could sit in the very front – but no one liked sitting in the front. There was the middle – but that’s usually where the social kids gathered. The back. The back was good. Sure, it’s were the rowdy kids were, but he was less likely to be bothered there.

He took the very last seat on the right, sliding in and settling beside the window. The bus started with a chug, and they were soon continuing on through the route. There was nothing too interesting going on in the bus, so he stuffed his headphones in his ears, turned up his music, and watched mutedly out the window as the damp town slowly passed.

There were many stops; students boarding with each one, but Jongin ignored the majority of them, and the entirety of them ignored him. He was only interested in the beautiful melody pouring itself into his ears, the music of Sigur Ros sending him into a dreamy state of consciousness. His eyelids drooped closed in content, brows screwed in concentration.

This was the sensation he loved – his fingertips itched for a canvas while his mind vividly painted the portrait for him. Pastel purples and vibrant blues cascading over crimson mountains and velvet valleys. It was so beautiful; if only he could get it onto paper. School hadn’t even started, and he was already giddy to get back home.

Too immersed in debilitating strings and piano, he didn’t notice the leather seat bowing down with a weight not of his own, but of someone else. It took the physical brushing of elbows for Jongin’s eyes to pop open and turn to his right – where a painfully familiar bug-eyed creep was situating himself.

Jongin remained silent in nonplus. His mind was blank. The _audacity_ , who said this guy could _sit next to him_! He’d certainly not given any permission – this guy deserved quite an earful of threats and curses! Too bad his mouth had a complete mind of its own…

“Wow… You really _do_ look like Harry Potter…”

_Kyungsoo_ looked over – making eye contact – and Jongin belatedly realized he’d spoken out loud. And now the guy was just staring at him, probing black irises causing an unnecessary nervousness to well up in his chest, and in turn had Jongin’s face twist into a scowl.

“Pardon?” Kyungsoo asked with a guilelessness that pissed Jongin off.

“Nothing.” He muttered, stuffing the headphone that’d fallen out of his ear back in before exaggeratedly crossing his arms and glaring out the window.

It was tense and awkward, Jongin refusing to remove his eyes from the window while Kyungsoo unobtrusively fidgeted and averted his gaze. Their elbows barely touched, Jongin flinched away, Kyungsoo gave him a curious glance, and Jongin shifted awkwardly.

This was beginning to seem like the longest bus ride he’d ever been on, and now he was hyper-aware of everything – _especially_ Kyungsoo. Every time he moved, Jongin subconsciously shifted – pushing himself as far away as he possibly could.

Kyungsoo sighed a lot, too, Jongin noted. He’d sighed four times just on this street – not that Jongin was counting, or anything. It was hard to miss, what with the loud chatter and bustling of other people, it’d be impossible not to notice the occasional huffs of air coming from the guy beside him, right?

When the bus had finally arrived the high school, Jongin pulled out his headphones and stuffed them into the front pocket of his bag. He gave Kyungsoo a glance – though it was more of a glare – and waited (impatiently) for him to move.

When Kyungsoo finally stepped into the isle, Jongin – reluctantly – followed behind, making sure to keep some distance. He ended up bumping into him, anyway, when Kyungsoo had stopped to let others out of their seats and ahead of them. It took all of Jongin’s willpower not to yell at him or give him a good shove. Why the hell was this guy so polite?

He still had to make a proper introduction, after all, and this seemed to be the best time. Better soon than later; better to just get it over and done with.

So, when the bug-eyed creep (this was Jongin’s new and official nickname him) had begun to wander off in own direction, Jongin stepped in front of him and awkwardly cleared his throat.

Kyungsoo paused precariously, brow slightly bent in question – but then he was staring at Jongin. Just… _staring._

Jongin would have stood there all day, waiting for him to blink, had he not remembered he was supposed to be introducing himself.

He bent into a halfhearted bow, avoiding eye contact – and internally whining because he _really_ didn’t want to do this. Damn you, Yixing,

“You're Do Kyungsoo, right?” He waited for a reaction of some sort, but Kyungsoo merely continued staring as if he hadn’t understood a single word. Jongin knew his Korean was a little rusty, but it was still understandable. He decided to just carry on.

“I'm Kim Jongin. I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.” He was lying through his teeth on that last part, but his acting seemed to be quite good, given Kyungsoo nodded slightly and bowed in return.

Kyungsoo gave a full ninety-degree bow, and Jongin couldn’t help but tisk. The guy was really too polite for his own good.

They stood there for a terse few moments before Kyungsoo had cautiously spoken up. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Are you… new here?” 

Jongin balked, turned, and walked away. Yixing just wanted them to meet. He hadn't said anything about them becoming friends. Uck. _Friends._ The mere word made Jongin grimace. Then he paused and turned back to where Kyungsoo was still innocuously standing.

“Hey… Stay away from me.”

And with that, he turned and went on across the courtyard, leaving a baffled Kyungsoo behind.

Jongin didn’t see the bug-eyed for the remainder of the day – Kyungsoo was his sunbae, and therefore they shared none of the same classes. Jongin couldn’t be more thankful to actually be younger, for once. They’d be less likely to run into each other again.

 

 

 

 

 

Jongin had eight classes, plus the extracurricular class he’d signed up for, for some extra credit – scratched the – the extracurricular class _his_ _sister_ had signed him up for, for some extra credit. It was nothing too bad. _“The School Artists”_ , as if was labeled.

Basically, they’d just be in charge of creating banners and decorating for school events. _Modern day slaves –_ as Jongin proclaimed. Not to mention it was a one-way train to ‘Loser-ville’. He might as well have signed up for the fucking Glee club, for Christ’s sake. At least it was his last class of the day.

He was obligated to be formally introduced for each of his classes, so by now he was already prepared for it. He stood silently beside his teacher’s – Mr. Jo’s – desk waiting for the man to take notice. When he finally did, he clapped a hand over Jongin’s shoulder before turning toward the class, where the other students were sizing him up because, well… He was the new kid, and everyone was always curious about the new kid.

“Everyone, this is Jongin. He just moved here all the way from Beijing, China. I expect all of you to be kind and make him feel welcome.” Mr. Jo gave a gummy smile as he gave Jongin’s shoulder a light pat. “Introduce yourself, Jongin.”

Jongin bowed automatically – having done the exact same procedure several times already that day.

“Hello, my name is Kim Jongin, it’s nice to meet you all. I hope we can become good friends and classmates.”

Mr. Jo motioned towards one of the unoccupied desks – one in the front row all the way to the right, next to stoic blond male. Jongin gave a small bow of his head before sidling over and sitting down, draping his backpack over the back of his seat before pulling out his sketchbook and pencil.

There was clatter of hushed whispers and faint giggles, even the occasional snicker, but Jongin ignored it. Teenage gossip was the least of his worries.

He sighed contently and pressed an edge of the exposed graphite to the paper, concealing it under the pad of his index finger. Another sigh, and he dragged it into a curved line. _Finally_. He’d waited for this all day.

He’d managed to get the vague outline of a flower before the stoic boy to his left was leaning over and distracting him.

“Hey… If you’re from China, how are you Korean? I mean… Aren't people from China supposed to be, y’know, _Chinese_?” His tone was hushed, but still amicable with an awkward chuckle.

Jongin gave him a terse glance, and halfheartedly raised his shoulders. “Maybe that’s why they kicked me out.”

It was a lame joke, but it didn’t fail to have the blond guy muffling his mirthful chuckles. Jongin reciprocated a smile. It wasn’t often his jokes actually made other people laugh – though he _was_ quite the comedian, if he did so do himself. He could crack himself up on the saddest of days.

The blond then extended a hand, and Jongin shook it. “I’m Oh Sehun.”

“Kim Jongin.” He replied – as if he hadn’t just introduced himself a mere few minutes ago.

Sehun sat back in his seat with a smile and nod of acknowledgement, and Jongin returned to his drawing. But he was able to draw no more than a single peddle before Mr. Jo was speaking up.

“Alright. Jongin.” The man called, capturing the teen’s attention as he stood from his desk with a top hat in one hand, small folded slips of paper in it as he held it out to Jongin.

Jongin’s eyes shifted from the hat to his teacher a few times in mild confusion, unsure of what to do. Mr. Jo the hat a light shake and a nod.

Jongin looked back to the hat, brow still grooved. “Uh… It’s a hat?”

Muffled laughs and giggles scattered over the room, and Jongin looked over at Sehun – who was suppressing his own laughter before mouthing, _“Take a piece of paper.”_

Jongin looked up at Mr. Jo – who wore an amused smile – before tentatively reaching into the hat and taking a slip, his hand hesitantly retreating without further instruction.

“Read it.” Mr. Jo chuckled.

Jongin unfolded it, greeted with two simple syllables – 나무 – and a lot more confusion.

“What does it say?” Mr. Jo pressed.

“Tree.”

“That’s your assignment for the year.” He stated succinctly, turning and returning to his desk. Jongin was _still_ beyond confused. He waited for further explanation, but the teacher gave none. Falling back into silence, he merely returned to his drawing.

 

 

When the end of class finally came, and Mr. Jo excused everyone, Jongin stayed behind, taking his time with gathering his things until everyone had left – leaving him and Mr. Jo.

He approached his desk, somewhat hesitant and awkward, unsure what to say or do. “Mr. Jo?”

“What can I help you with, Jongin?” Mr. Jo replied, eyes remaining on his computer screen.

“Um… I was just wondering—I mean… What do I… How can my assignment be _‘tree’…?_ What do I do?”

Mr. Jo finally met Jongin’s gaze with a mirthful smile, leaning back in his seat and twining his fingers. “It’s quite simple. Just take the tree, and use it to your advantage. Create whatever you want, be it painting, or sculpting, or paper maché—use it for inspiration, and you’ll get graded for all you make at the end of the year. Simple, huh?”

Jongin’s lips flattened to a line—not exactly a smile, but not _not_ a smile. “Oh, okay. Everyone gets this assignment?”

Mr. Jo nodded. “Yes, but with different objects. You should be going, or you’ll miss the bus.”

Jongin nodded, bowing his head in gratitude, “Thank you, sir. See you tomorrow.”

 

 

The bus ride home was uneventful. He didn’t see _bug-eyed_ , and sat in the same seat in the back as he did that morning. No one bothered him, and he bothered no one.

Instead, he listened to his music, and pondered about his new assignment.

_Tree._

Trees were everywhere. Trees were so common, so every day. There was nothing special about a _tree._

What the fuck was he supposed to do with a tree?


	4. Ordinary Boy

**Date:** November 24th, 2012

**Kyungsoo:** Age 19

**Location:** Gyeonggi-do, South Korea

Kyungsoo was not a fighter, but he wasn’t exactly a lover, either. Kyungsoo was just… Kyungsoo. He didn’t mess with anyone, and, well… just about _everyone_ messed with him.

It was just a part of his every day school life. Nothing ever got too physical, so it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He was no stranger when it came to faceless hate and mockery. Which was why his strange meeting at the bus wasn’t anything to be taken to heart. Sure, it somewhat hurt his feelings, but he’d heard far worse.

Don’t get the wrong idea, he isn’t another one of those pity stories. You know, where the nerd with glasses gets beat up for being too smart and has no friends? No. This is quite the contrary, really.

Kyungsoo had plenty of friends, more friends than he can count with both hands. He wasn’t excessively smart; he was just another mediocre student who hated studying like everyone else. As for the glasses part – he only had his genetics to blame.

He didn’t know what this _Kim Jongin_ ’s problem was, but he wasn’t planning on finding out anytime soon. He was never one to start drama, anyway.

After the encounter, Kyungsoo stood there for no more than a few moments – taken aback, but not so much surprised. A lot curious, but a little hurt.

_Oh well._ What could he do? Apparently this new kid was a douchebag, and if he wanted Kyungsoo to stay away, he’d stay away – No problem. The last thing he needed was another trifling tormentor. 

He didn’t dwell on it any further. Baekhyun and Chanyeol were waiting for him, and they couldn’t be late for classes. It was best to just shrug it off and move on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The school parking lot was filled with countless puddles of rain, and Kyungsoo went out of his way to avoid all of them – his mom just bought him a brand new pair of white Reebok Pumps, and he wasn’t about to get them dirty after just one use.

He greeted fellow classmates as they passed, heart smile always blooming with a polite dip of his head and a soft, _“Good morning.”_

 

“Hello.” Kyungsoo sighed softly upon approaching his friends. He wasn’t exactly too keen of taking the bus to school – his mother usually took him, but she’d been called into work early this morning. That’d put a damper on his good mood to start with, and the bus encounter had officially killed off the rest of it.

“Hey, Kyungie.” Baekhyun chirruped, hopping off the hood of Chanyeol’s rusty blue pickup truck to extend a hand towards the similarly heighted boy.

“Let me see your history homework.” He then requested.

“No, you shouldn’t cheat.” Kyungsoo retorted with judging eyes, cocking a brow at the brunet.

“Oh, come on.” Baekhyun tisked with an amused roll of his eyes, “I’m not cheating, just… _checking_ , per se. Now hand it over, the bell’s about to ring!” He urged, his fingers doing a little dance of impatience.

Kyungsoo sighed again, but eventually complied as he dug through his bag and pulled out his history book – Baekhyun all but squealing in satisfaction as he snatched it and opened up to their assigned chapter.

“I’m guessing he already copied your answers?” Kyungsoo asked knowingly, hopping up onto the hood next to Chanyeol and accepting a sucker the taller had offered.

“Yep.” Chanyeol confirmed, voice deep yet velvety smooth. “And, may I ask why you’re wearing those granny glasses?”

Kyungsoo gave a sarcastic laugh and rolled his eyes as he popped the sucker into his mouth, one cheek bulging as he pushed it off to the side with his tongue. “First of all, I forgot to buy more contact solution, so I _had_ to wear them, and second of all, they are not _‘granny glasses’._ ”

“Nah, they’re more like Harry Potter.” Baekhyun chimed in as he erased a couple answers and diligently refilled them. “Potter-soo.” He laughed to himself, glancing up at Chanyeol to share amusement.

Kyungsoo withheld the urge to sigh, shook his head, and ignored the comment while Chanyeol burst into laughter at the nickname.

“Since when do you rely on us for your cheat-sheets, anyway?” Chanyeol questioned – once he’d settled, of course – and leaned on his left hand to prop himself up over Baekhyun to observe his scribbling. “I thought you were good at history - hell, didn’t you even tutor Yixing before?”

There was a noticeable falter in the brunet’s writing, and his rush came to momentary halt.

A tense silence surrounded them before Chanyeol spoke up. “Baek, I’m sor—“

“No.” Baekhyun interrupted with a faint smile, finishing up his writing before turning his gaze up toward Chanyeol, giving a light shake of his head.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” He assured as he neatly stacked up Kyungsoo’s papers and wedged them back into his history book, which he then closed and returned to its rightful owner, and then gathering up his own.

“Come on. We don’t wanna be late, do we?” He added after a moment, stuffing his things back into his bag before giving a bright smile that didn’t reach his eyes, turning, and waving for them to follow.

Both of them stalled – Chanyeol staring helplessly at Baekhyun’s retreating back figure, and Kyungsoo ~~glaring~~ staring at Chanyeol in exasperated nonplus.

He raised his history book and harmlessly struck Chanyeol in the chest – causing the elder to recoil and exclaim in surprise.

“Idiot.” Kyungsoo muttered, hopping off the truck to chase after Baekhyun – who was already a ways ahead of them.

_“Baek, wait up!”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lunch was always busy, and _always_ loud, but Kyungsoo supposed it came along with befriending two of the most popular kids in his grade. He never did get used to the ruckus, though. Baekhyun was an expert at telling entertaining stories and coming up with clever word-play, while Chanyeol was the known prankster with witty jokes and a scintillating smile that could brighten anyone’s day.

Kyungsoo was neither – which led some to believe he wasn’t worthy of such grand company – with his inept social skills and blank stares. He couldn’t exactly blame them – he really had nothing else to offer aside from his heart smile and abnormally big eyes. Those two traits, however, led to more teasing rather than admiration, sadly.

But he’d known the both of them since sixth grade, so he didn’t really care what other people thought. He could never be more grateful for their friendship. They were dear to him, and never to be taken for granted.

For that reason, Kyungsoo couldn’t help but admire his friends from afar every once in a while. When he’s standing in the hall, and Chanyeol has yet to notice him as he chats with other classmates and effortlessly makes them laugh. Or at lunch, when Baekhyun is too amerced in telling a story to notice his fond gaze from across the table. Kyungsoo always took a moment to stop, and to wonder how he came to be so lucky. So lucky to have someone like Baekhyun to talk with about nothing and everything and share secrets into the wee hours of the night. And so lucky to have someone like Chanyeol smile at him, and play naughty pranks with and on. So lucky.

 

Date: August 22nd, 2006

Kyungsoo: Age 13

Location: Gyeonggi-do, South Korea – Gyeonggi-do Middle School

Kyungsoo stared solemnly out the window to his right – a cherubic cheek propped on the heel of his palm and lips jutted out in a glum pout. 

The first day of school was always the worst; filled with awkward introductions, fumbling with locker combinations, confusing directions, packed halls, memorizing schedules, pushing and shoving, heavy textbooks, anxiety... All of that, and it was barely second period.

He sat back in his seat with a suppressed yawn, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders and sleepily smacking his lips.

“Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo looked forward—where Ms. Lee was looking at him with expectancy. He glanced around a bit, offering a dip of his head in apology before standing from his seat. His classmates had all been in the middle of introductions, and now it was his turn.

He bent forward—giving a polite ninety-degree bow—before standing straight.

“Hello, everyone. I’m Do Kyungsoo; I’m thirteen years old. My hobbies include singing, and writing poems. Please take care of me, and I hope we can become close friends.”

He leant into another bow, but was curtly interrupted by something small smacking into the side of his neck.

Half the class erupted into snorts and giggles while Kyungsoo raised his hand to his neck, bringing it back to view a tiny little ball of paper, slick with saliva, smeared into his palm.

He grimaced in disgust and quickly wiped his hand down the side of his slacks, raising his shoulder to rub the nasty wetness from his neck, as well.

Ms. Lee clapped her hands together, silencing the disruptive teens when Kyungsoo had taken his seat again.

He sunk into his seat in annoyance, muttering in incoherence about “stupid four year olds” and “so immature” as the teacher moved on with introductions.

 

At some point of the day, when Kyungsoo was in the midst of jiggling his locker open, a pert unfamiliar blond boy with a pretty smile approached him out of the blue.

He merely side glanced him at first, slightly awkward and iffy, and opened up his locker to retrieve his lunch. But the boy still stood there – even moving to follow beside Kyungsoo when the doe-eyed had closed his locker and turned to head towards the cafeteria.

“Hi.” The blond spoke up finally, scuttling alongside Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo looked over at him, slightly bemused and tentative as to what this guy—such a pretty guy—would want from him. But he was also on edge. For all he knew – this could be the same dick who’d shot a spitball at him just a couple hours before, and was now trying to pull another prank.

“Hi.” He slowly responded, and the other seemed to brighten at this, he even chuckled as if achieving some accomplishment that Kyungsoo wasn’t aware of.

“I’m Byun Baekhyun, I just moved here from Yanggu.” Baekhyun enlightened cheerfully, and wedges his thumbs under the bag straps over his shoulders.

“Nice to meet you.” Kyungsoo smiled softly, but politely. “I’m Do Kyungsoo.”

“I know – we have the same second hour.” Baekhyun chuckled softly, and Kyungsoo mumbled a solemn, “oh” under his breath in slight embarrassment, rubbing his nape habitually.

“You said you liked singing, right?”

Kyungsoo nodded quizzically, and Baekhyun grinned from ear to ear. “You should come hang out with me and my friend, Chanyeol! His mom has an old karaoke machine, and we were gonna watch a couple movies and eat some snacks, and stuff - you in?”

He doesn’t know why—maybe it was Baekhyun’s guileless aura, or perhaps his bright smile, or maybe it was because it was the first time someone had ever invited him over to play, willingly—but Kyungsoo was smiling sincerely for the first time that day, and he found he liked this Byun Baekhyun.

“Sure.”

“Great! Wait—you’re okay with ferrets, right?”

“Uh …Y-Yeah, I guess so?”

“Oh, good.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Date:** November 27th, 2012

Birthdays are a big deal, and they are always celebrated together. Kyungsoo was seriously starting to wonder how many more birthdays they had left before the _‘surprise parties’_ stopped being so surprising, though.

Clearly this year wouldn’t be the year, because Chanyeol was still shocked to find his apartment bombarded with obnoxious colors of balloons and party streamers, along with signs of _‘Happy Birthday’_ and Baekhyun and Kyungsoo standing there – pulling confetti poppers as soon as the door is opened, and yelling _“Happy Birthday”_ at the top of their lungs.

They’d had a cake set and decorated, and Chanyeol already had cheerful tears brimming his lashes before they’d even sung Happy Birthday.

_“I heard people with big eyes tend to cry a lot.”_ Baekhyun had fondly teased, and they’d all laughed, and Kyungsoo had dabbed Chanyeol’s tears away, and they’d cut the cake and shared sodas and more laughter.

With their bellies full of sweets and junk food, they brought out the ancient karaoke machine and cranked it up to an ungodly volume – swapping verses of Simple Minds’ _‘Don’t You Forget about Me’_ – which mostly consisted of mumbling over the words they didn’t know, and coming together to belt the words they did.

There _might’ve_ been _some_ alcohol involved – but that’s not what’s important.

What’s important was the happiness, and how it warmed Kyungsoo’s chest with a feeling he never wanted to let go of, and that he’d treasure for all of his lifetimes – no matter what was to happen in the future.

They fell asleep to birds chirping outside and the TV left on – all three of them crowded on the fold-out bed in Chanyeol’s couch – with drool on their faces and soju in their breath.

 

 

 

 

 

**Date:** November 28th, 2012

Kyungsoo’s mother is an importable staff member at the Gyeonggi-do Wildlife Enclosure, so coming home to find the petite woman bottle-feeding a small infant chimp is not a sight that surprises Kyungsoo. If anything, it’s expected and happily welcomed.

“This is Lilly.” _Yesung_ introduced with a small chortle when her son has dropped his schoolbag by the door and scuttled over with giddy excitement. “She was sent here, today. Mother killed by poachers. The bastards.” She tisked bitterly.

Kyungsoo hummed and nodded, though was soon cooing over the way Lilly’s tiny fingers encircled one of his own and pulled it curiously, all but forgetting the plastic nipple in her mouth and the warm formula coming from it.

“She’s so cute. She’s gonna be staying with us?” Kyungsoo inquired, taking the chimp into his arms when his mother carefully passed her over, scurrying off to answer the phone on the wall. He cradled Lilly in one arm, holding the bottle with the other and smiling as she greedily ate and tried holding the bottle herself.

“Afraid not, dear. We’ve got her for tonight, and then Hyolin is coming to pick her up in the morning.”

Kyungsoo pouted in disappointed, but didn’t dwell on it for much longer as he lightly bounced Lilly and hummed a gentle tune – his mother talking on the phone in the background.

Hyolin was one of his mother’s co-workers. They’d been best friends through high school, and Kyungsoo pretty much knew her as an Aunt.

“I’ve got to take an early shift tomorrow, so we’re ordering out tonight.” Yesung sighed as she walked back over, cooing as she took the little chimp back into her arms.

“Pizza?” Kyungsoo suggested with a ring of hope, and his mother smiled in amusement and nodded.

“Yes!” He clenched a fist in success, and earned a laugh from Yesung.

“Have you finished your homework yet?” She gave her son an askance look, and Kyungsoo groaned dreadfully.

“Better get on it, then – if you want pizza, that is.” She singsonged, giving one of Kyungsoo’s cheeks a harmless pinch as she passed by and towards the back door.

“ _Mom._ ” He whined, rubbing his cheek as if he’d just been assaulted. She only laughed, and Kyungsoo begrudgingly went off to do as he was told.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Baekhyun, Chanyeol, and Kyungsoo have an unspoken ritual – have had one since they could remember. It’s that weekends are reserved for overnight hangouts, movie marathons, and spending time together.

They’d usually huddle up in Chanyeol’s apartment, and if not – Kyungsoo’s living room with his mother happily serving snacks. They’d gone to Baekhyun’s a few times over the years, but the constant bickering and yelling of his parents always drove them out, anyway.

Kyungsoo could tell being there made Baekhyun uncomfortable—could see it on his face—and, eventually, they stopped spending nights over there altogether.

But there’s always a downfall when it comes to being a trio of friends—and it doesn’t take much for Kyungsoo to see that he can be the third wheel every so often.

It doesn’t bother him much, because he understands. Baekhyun and Chanyeol had already been very close friends when he’d met them, so he can’t expect to harbor into their strong bond.

Chanyeol is the sturdy roots, and Baekhyun is the buoyed trunk, but Kyungsoo is just the leaves—dangling from the branch’s fingertips and always ready to let go when the time comes.

Baekhyun is fragile, and Kyungsoo understands that sometimes, he isn’t the one that can make it all better – that sometimes, Chanyeol is the only one needed and clung to. So he’ll take a step back, and watch from afar, because he _understands._

No, it doesn’t bother him much, but it can get boring on nights like this one. Nights where he’s all by his lonesome and ends up wandering down to Gyeonggi-do Park to perch on the edge of that little wooden stage, slightly slumped over as he ponders and concentrates on the words and rhymes he scribbles down into his notebook.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Date: December 27th, 2010

Kyungsoo: Age 17

“Remember what he did when we first met?”

Kyungsoo and Chanyeol are stood a small ways back from the beautiful memorial displayed around a lacquered casket. It’s been closed, and a large bouquet of flowers and accentuating plants are placed atop it, surrounding a picture of a smiling boy sporting a school uniform and dimpled cheeks.

Baekhyun is a foot or two in front of them, and he’s the first to speak up when he presses the palm of his hand to the smooth wooden surface.

Neither of them say anything, because Baekhyun wasn’t expecting them to.

“He gave me a daisy,” He was smiling, but the corners of his lips wobbled faintly. “He said, he thought I should have it since… Daises symbolized beauty and purity. A-And… Love, too.”

He lightly convulsed with something between a laugh and sob, and he tentatively placed a white flower atop the casket before lowering himself onto his knees and resting his head down atop his knuckles.

“Happy Anniversary, Yixing. I love you.”

Kyungsoo bit onto the inside his cheek as his vision blurred, and he fidgeted with his fingers. It felt as if his heart was ripped from his chest at the sight of his best friend so distraught, and it was squeezed tighter with each pain-filled sob that wrenched through the room. It was hard to watch, so he looked elsewhere when his own lips began to quaver.

Chanyeol crouched down and wrapped his arms around Baekhyun’s shaking frame, forehead rested against downy hair and hands kneading into tensed muscles.

“Why did this have to happen, Chanyeol? W-Why? He shouldn’t’ve gone like this—I could’ve stopped it—it’s my fault…! It’s my fault, I could’ve stopped it—it’s my fault…! It’s all my fault…!" Baekhyun lifted his head, rubbing his palms together in a desperate plea. " _I’m sorry, Yixing_... I did wrong… I’m so sorry… Forgive me… _Please_ , forgive me…”

 

 

 

**Date:** December 1st, 2012

“I saw this cute guy the other day.”

It’d been two years, eleven months, and five days since the last time Baekhyun had exhibited any romantic interest in another human being, so to say that Kyungsoo and Chanyeol were utterly bemused by this casual statement would be a massive understatement – but it was no less a pleasant one.

The three of them are currently gathered around in Kyungsoo’s living room. Baekhyun was laid flat on his stomach in the middle of the floor, picking through a small mound of different types of candies. Kyungsoo was sat a little ways from him, having been in the midst of flipping through channels on TV, and Chanyeol was lounging on the couch behind them, lazily plucking some strings on his guitar.

All had paused though, and both Chanyeol and Kyungsoo gawped at the brunet as he continued casually sorting through his candy as if was nothing out of the blue – with his chin propped up in his palm and feet swaying in the air.

“Cute…?” Chanyeol parroted in a baffled so of tone.

“Yeah. He goes to our school. ‘Saw him at lunch.” Baekhyun rolled one of the candies between his thumb and index finger before lightly pulling the twisted ends and opening it – tossing it in his mouth a moment later.

“That’s… nice.” Kyungsoo trilled faintly in response, and tentatively went back flipping through channels.

“Mm-hm.” Baekhyun hummed, and nothing further was spoken of the subject that day.

 

 

 

 

**Date:** December 5th, 2012

“You want to join the art club?” Chanyeol tisks passed his mouthful of shrimp chips, eyeing Baekhyun from across the wooden bench they’re both sitting on.

The three of them are currently at the park in their spare hours. They’d stopped by a convenient store on the way and picked up some snacks and soda to gorge on.

“Well, yeah.” Baekhyun shrugs halfhearted, reaching over and retrieving a handful of the greasy chips, popping one in his mouth with a considering look.

“Since when are you into art?” Kyungsoo asks from where he’s been balancing on the edge of the stage, arms held out on either side of himself for balance as he precariously turns on his toes and starts wobbling back to the other end of the wooden platform.

“I’ve always been into art.” Baekhyun retorts as he munches on another chip, standing from the bench to join Kyungsoo in his balancing act.

“I’m calling bullshit.” Chanyeol announces, waving his hand in the air enthusiastically and earning a mock-sort of laughter from the short brunet who rolls his eyes and fake annoyance.

“What’s the _real_ reason, Baek?” The big-eared teen then pressed with a perked interest – because, this is Baekhyun they’re talking about here, and Baekhyun normally doesn’t give a shit about crafty stuff and would rather spend his time eating ice-cream or other unhealthy sweet.

“That _is_ the real reason.” Baekhyun insists, wobbling dangerously and nearly losing balance when Kyungsoo turns around and nearly bumps into him – the both having to flail their arms and quickly squeeze passed each other, which resolves in short lived laughter before Chanyeol is pressing for more answers.

“C’mon, no secrets.” He challenges, and Kyungsoo is quick to second that.

“You can’t hide stuff from us, what this about, huh?” The doe-eyes wants to know. “No secrets, remember?”

They weren’t very old at the time – the three of them had been friends for maybe over a year. Kyungsoo’s rough bullying was just starting to pile on when the three of them had entered seventh grade.

Kyungsoo doesn’t remember all the details, but he remembers something along the lines of not wanting to worry his friends, and then how a bloody nose and cut lip had pretty much outed him. And he remembers how Baekhyun had actually _cried_ , and hugged him so tightly, and Chanyeol looked so furious and was seriously about to cut a bitch – Kyungsoo also notes that Chanyeol did, indeed, beat the shit out the Minho who’d been bothering him and made a few threats to leave the owl-eyed alone.

It was so touching – still is – and from that day on, they’d promised to never keep things from each other. They’d kept strong to it all these years.

Goddammit. Baekhyun knows he’s lost this one. Fucking promises.

“It’s…” Baekhyun starts begrudgingly, halting his walking and plopping down on the edge of the stage. “Well, you know that guy I mentioned the other day?”

“The cute guy?” Chanyeol guesses, and Baekhyun nods.

“Yeah, um… Well, he’s kinda, sorta, in that class, so…”

“You’re joining just ‘cause a guy?” Kyungsoo questions incredulously, hopping down from the stage to properly view his friend.

But perhaps this is a good thing. Baekhyun _should_ start dating again.

“I was actually hoping you guys would join with me.” The brunet adds tentatively, flashing a bright smile.

Chanyeol gawped.

No.

Nope.

Fuck this.

“I’m not joining that lame-ass group!” Chanyeol scoffs. “Might as well join the fucking glee club while we’re at it!” He laughs at the thought.

“I was in glee club…” Kyungsoo mumbles as if hurt.

“No offense, Soo,” Chanyeol added with little sympathy in his tone before turning his attention back to Baekhyun.

“I’m sorry, but there is no fucking way that’s happening. Ever. _That’ll_ be the day.” He throws his hands up in the air with an exaggerated laugh, simultaneously thrusting the shrimp chips up into the air.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Date:** December 6 th, 2012

“There is no way this is actually fucking happening…” Kyungsoo heard Chanyeol mutter as they stood infront of Mr. Jo’s class, and he snorted in muffled mockery.

In all honesty, Kyungsoo couldn’t see what was so bad about joining The School Artists. He was almost tempted to say he was excited and giddy – looking forward to the experience. He’d never been a part of any crafty clubs in grade school, but he’d doodled and made enough class projects to know he had some artistic potential. Maybe this _potential_ could actually become a handy talent in the future.

Baekhyun was in the middle of his introduction when he saw it, though, and it’d wiped the happy smile right off his face in a mere second – leaving him stoic.

Sitting in the front row all the way to the right, next to an unimpressed blond, was the bus incident boy, wearing a look of matching surprise. None other than Mr. Kim Jongin.

It was a staring match of sorts.

Kyungsoo’s jaw hung loose in nonplus, and Jongin sat tight-lipped with an unreadable gaze.

_Oh no._

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Low Shoulder's song, "Through The Trees."


End file.
